I watched the sun come up over the Wasatch mountains. There
is never a guarantee that the sun will come up, but we certainly expect the
sunrise every morning as if it were guaranteed. We expect the earth to continue
in its course as it has done for eons and produce a sunrise worthy of our
wonder. We expect life to begin anew as the rays of the sun reach the spinning
earth. However, sunrise is not guaranteed, but sunset is.

According to the World Death Clock - http://www.medindia.net/patients/calculators/world-death-clock.asp
- over one hundred and six people die each minute. That means by the time you
finish reading this blog, over two hundred people will have witnessed the sunset
of their lives, depending on how fast you read. The passing of one person is
nothing more than a millisecond. Like the passing sun in the sky, life, and
death, march on.

Time. It is the one commodity doled out in equal measure –
one second at a time. The rich, the poor, the young, the old, the diligent, and
the indolent, are all allotted time in the same fashion. We cannot hoard it. We
cannot preserve it. We cannot even slow its progress. We can, however, waste
it, kill it, and squander it. Time is a running river of fresh water into which
we can dip our cup over and over again, but we cannot regain the drops that
have passed us by and hurried on their way downstream. The clock marches on
offering the same valuable commodity to everyone in equal measure.

At sunset we can look back on the day and wonder where the
moments went. We ponder how we spent the fleeting seconds, the hurried minutes,
and languishing hours. How did we spend this perishable capital doled out in equal
measure to everyone? Did we waste the waking hours slumbering on soft pillows?
Did we greet the noonday with promises of enterprise only to be distracted by
some fleeting folly? Did we charge forth into eventide and pour our energy into
some passing fancy that will not be remembered for a week, much less a century?
As the sun raced across the sky and sunset approached, what did we do with the
one perishable commodity that we will never recapture? Sunrise is not
guaranteed, but sunset is.

I have often said that if I had the power to pass one of my
developed skills on to my children, I would pass on to them the skill of time
management. It is a skill that has taken me years to hone, and I still feel
like I could squeeze a bit more out of the minutes that are mine. I could still
make better use of the rare commodity doled out in equal measure. The young, it
seems, think that time is in abundance. The old can feel the clock ticking and
can sense the closing of the day pressing in. Yet in truth, time continues its
steady flight, unchanging, and waiting to be utilized instead of just endured,
or wasted.

My finite mind cannot comprehend the eternities – a place
where time is no longer measured. I cannot comprehend something without a
beginning, or an end. Perhaps that is a good thing, for now. It keeps me
focused on the seconds, minutes, days, and weeks that I am blessed to
experience. It helps me drink in every moment, cherish every sunrise, and
grieve at every sunset. I am a mortal man, and my time is measured. I cannot
afford to waste those precious drops from the river of time as it hurries by. I
must dip in my cup, and drink deep, and often.

What will I make of today? Will I do something that will be
remembered for a week, a year, or maybe a century? Will I use my fleeting
moments in a way that makes the world a better place, or will I indulge myself
and squander those passing rays of sunshine on simple pleasures or frivolous
pursuits? When the clock strikes the hour of my passing, and my sunset has
arrived, will I look back and wonder what I did with my time, or will I stare
into the past and see a tapestry of accomplishment woven from the seconds I
harnessed utilized in good works?

Each day we have the promise of sunrise. Each day we have
the promise of time, that precious commodity doled out in steady measure. What
will we do with that promise?

Contributors

I was driven to writing by my own arrogance. In January of 2009, I finished a book by a popular author and was very unimpressed. I turned the book over and saw that it was a NY Times best seller. “I could do better than that,” I mumbled under my breath. So I began to dabble in writing and pondered various book ideas. Although I didn’t share my writing with anyone for several months, I found that I thoroughly enjoyed my writing time and found myself eager to get back to my computer. Writing gave me new purpose, and filled an emotional void in my life. It allowed me to be creative. I began sharing my work and was encouraged. I attended Orson Scott Card’s Literary Boot Camp, and came away with greater desire and respect for the writing craft. Today, I am still arrogant enough to think that I can succeed, but not so naïve that I think success will come without great struggles and many failures.